


The Devils wear Louboutins and a Governor's Uniform

by TheCreatorOfTales



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Badass Women, Chivalry, Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hurt, Joan teams up with someone as badass as she is, Joan's a gentlewoman, Nobody takes any shit in this fic, Some angst, There is not a single straight woman in this, Work In Progress, i didnt like it, i saw canon, it will be short but sweet, manipulative, so i set canon on fire and made a new one, we know this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:02:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCreatorOfTales/pseuds/TheCreatorOfTales
Summary: A figure from Franky's past comes to Wentworth to return something to her, and she saunters straight into Governor Ferguson's interest.
Relationships: Joan Ferguson/Original Female Character(s), Vera Bennett/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Devils wear Louboutins and a Governor's Uniform

**Author's Note:**

> Hi you lovely people! I'm struggling quite a bit right now with writer's block! I have all these ideas dancing around in my brain, but I just can't seem to find the words to be able to put them on paper!
> 
> So please bare with me, I know some of you are waiting for a new chapter of Stepping into Midnight, Bite the Bullet and Governor Ferguson Said Knock You Out, but I don't want to publish them on AO3 until I'm 100% happy with them. Writer's Block will pass, it always does, but it will be a case of chipping away at it a little bit at a time until it goes away completely.
> 
> As always, I appreciate every kudos, comment and bookmark, and thank you for continuing to read my works! Really helps make it feel worth it that people are enjoying it.<3

“Franky! You got visitation, come on.”

Confused, Franky looked at Fletcher. “I haven’t got anyone visiting me today.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, a small flame of excitement building in her belly. _It might be her. She might have finally decided to come visit me._

“Apparently, you do now. Miss Bennett’s radioed me to come get you. Come on, I haven’t got all day.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” Following the man quietly, Franky’s brain whirled with the possibility of seeing the petite brunette from her past again. The petite brunette that didn’t answer the letters she sent or take her calls. She had Kim whilst she was inside, yeah, but to be able to see _her_ again? Too good to not take the chance. Fletcher led her to the strip search room, just before the door to the visitation room, where Miss Bennett was waiting for her. The strip search was routine by now, and Miss Bennett was quick and didn’t drag it out.

She let the deputy lead her to the Visitation Room where she craned her neck to try and see if she was there, her little brunette, but Franky couldn’t see her at all. But a shock of red hair, pulled back in an elegant French Twist caused her to stop walking, making the woman behind her bump into her back and complain. She shuffled forward, not wanting to have this meeting with the redhead, knowing damn well that nothing good was going to come of it. Miss Bennett ushered her forward with an impatient gesture of her head, noting that Franky’s face had gone paper white. It was an unusual sight, usually the woman swaggered with brash confidence everywhere she went. Having moved the prisoner forward enough that she moved on her own, Vera turned and went to the desk, picking up the phone and ringing for the Governor. She might find this particularly interesting.

The redheaded woman didn’t bother to stand. That would have shown a level of respect for the incarcerated woman that she didn’t have. Dressed in a black, perfectly tailored suit, a crisp white blouse with delicate and loose black bow on the front and iconic red bottomed stilettos, the woman radiated an intimidating aura. With her makeup perfectly done, and not a hair out of place, she drew attention. Once she saw Frankie, a perfect dark brow raised, and her red lips pulled into a cold smirk. She sat, slightly slouched, with her legs crossed and her hands in her pockets. The image of relaxed but prepared. The women and visitors on the other tables eyed the pair, noticing the lack of warm greeting or hugs that usually happened during a visit. Franky didn’t notice that Kim was sat with her sister at a table in the corner, eyeing her with worry as she watched the woman become nervous in front of her visitor.

Franky came to the table, nervously eyeing her, wringing her hands together. “Hello Andy.”

“You know damn well that my name is Andréa, and the fact that I’m allowing you to call me that is a miracle in itself.” Her tone is cold and very business-like. She nods sharply at the chair in front of Franky. “Sit. I haven’t got all day.” Franky, not wanting to draw more of a scene, did as she was told. Vera sat and watched with raised brows as the redhead got the Top Dog of Wentworth to be hunched over in her chair, looking from side to side with her hands in her lap, acting as a guilty child would in front of a parent. She was right, the Governor would be very interested in this.

Silence reigned between the two women for a moment. Andréa eyes Franky’s hunched form coldly, in the same way someone would look at an annoying bug.

“How’s…” Franky started, leaning forward and resting her hands on the table. “…how’s Catherine?”

Livid green eyes meet hers. Franky isn’t surprised by the fury she sees there, all over a misunderstanding. Andréa can and does hold a grudge for however long is necessary, and it looks like her grudge with Franky is still going strong.

“As much as I detest speaking of my niece with you,” she hisses, venom poured into every word and an angry glare contorting her face. “She is why I’m here.”

Ice courses through Franky’s veins and panic causes her head to pound. _Something’s happened?_ She breathes heavily, half reaching out across the table at the other woman, but then remembers that if any limb gets within striking distance, Andréa is likely to rip it off. She quickly yanks her hand back.

“She isn’t dead, Francesca, so you can stop your little display.” The woman eyes her and sniffs in disgust. “Not that you would care.”

Anger fills the black haired woman. “That’s not fair!” She harshly whispers, her eyes welling with tears, but before she can go on a rant the redhead cuts her off.

“If you cared so very much for my niece as you so claim, then why was she left frothing at the mouth in a filthy shed by the train tracks as you sprinted after a drug dealer who gave you a bum deal for the gear you were selling!?” Andréa’s voice is low but imbibed with rage and she leans forward out of her previous position to get into Franky’s face, as much as she can with the table separating them. The harsh, high pitched whispering continues, as Vera eyes the two women and notices the Governor glide into the room via the furthest door, passing behind the redhead and Franky, but taking notice of the ferocity of their conversation. Whatever those two are speaking about was not pleasant. She raises an eyebrow in Vera’s direction as she comes closer.

“Whoever can make Doyle shake like a soaked chihuahua is a person I want to meet.” She says as she comes to stand beside her deputy, a wry smile on her face.

“You know that wasn’t what was supposed to happen!”

“No? How else does a drug deal end, you ignorant child?!” Andréa hisses through her teeth. “You have no idea what she went through after you ran off, do you?! Whilst you were being tackled to the floor and handcuffed and read your rights?!” Andréa’s glare could melt stone and causes Franky to shrink back in her seat. “Shall I tell you, little girl, about what Catherine went through because you gave her the shit that you did!?” The swearword sounds odd coming out of the redhead’s mouth, it doesn’t match the expensive clothes or the posture. Franky has flinched back into her chair, wilting under the woman’s furious stare, remembering how she’d gotten angry and had lost her temper and had left Catherine curled up in a pile of dirty blankets, high as a kite with a needle still in her arm and had run after the idiot who she thought was trying to undercut her price for her gear. She hadn’t noticed the brunette foaming at the mouth, or the convulsions as she’d leapt through the door of the shed. Guilt rips through her.

“She had a heart attack, Francesca, whilst her liver shut down, and then she stopped breathing.” Andréa remembers the moment she saw her niece, hooked up to all manner of tubes and machines. Her little niece, who she’d raised from an infant when her parents had died in a car accident shortly after dropping her off for the night as they had gone for a date night to celebrate their anniversary. Her niece, who was as good as her daughter. The woman blinks to banish the memories glazing in front of her eyes, levelling a hard stare at the woman she considers to be the root cause of all of her niece’s suffering. “Luckily, I donated half of my liver to her. They fitted her with a pacemaker too. Do you know what sound the ribs make when doctors perform CPR, Francesca? Hm?”

Franky shakes her head, and curls into herself, holding her head and quietly moaning, not wanting to hear this. Not wanting to think of Catherine, _her Catherine,_ in that way.

“They sound like a glowstick being cracked.” Franky flinches at the image, bringing her hands up to her face and breathing rapidly, nearly heaving, and trying to hide her tears in front of this beast of a woman. Because tears for Catherine may cause Andréa to use her expensive shoes to stab her in the throat.

The redhead leans back, almost casually. “So quite truthfully, darling _Franky_ ,” the name is spat from her mouth. “I don’t care for your excuses. I don’t care for you to do anything now, except sit there silently, listen and nod.” She leans down, reaching into the expensive, designer handbag by her feet, bringing out a worn bundle of envelopes, tied crudely with an elastic band. The envelopes look worn, show obvious signs of wear, and most of them show that they’ve been crumpled more than once. Three even show signs of being half burnt. Andréa pushes them forward with one finger, disgust evident in her face.

_Her letters._

Not one has been opened.

Her face must show that she recognises them because Andréa nods once, resolutely.

“Good, you already know what these are. Catherine has requested that these be returned to you. You are to cease all communication with her, per her request. She doesn’t want to hear from you, either in writing, phone calls or any other means at your disposal. You are to be a forgotten memory to her, one she intends to forget quickly. So you may as well save your paper for someone who wants to hear from you.”

“You can’t stop me from contacting her!” Her voice is loud, drawing attention. Franky looks at Andréa, noticing that the woman isn’t showing any emotion on her face.

Andréa leans forward once more, reaching out and snatching Franky’s wrist with the speed of a viper striking at prey. She yanks the younger woman forward, aware that the Governor and the Deputy are watching their interaction with interest. She is also aware that if the conversation gets any louder, they will intervene. Franky finds herself stuck in the other woman’s hold, forced to meet her eyes and listen to what she has to say.

“You can try to phone her, or even write to her. But every letter will be sent here with ‘return to sender’ scrawled across the front, and your calls won’t connect because I will ensure that they don’t. Besides, Catherine won’t require a phone in this country anymore.”

“Why? You gonna lock her up? Eh? Keep her surrounded? Build a pretty prison of her own with all your stupid money!?”

“No need, Francesca. Catherine is currently aboard an airplane in a comfortable, first class seat, heading to the UK. She is going to stay with my sister in London. After nearly two years, she is still plagued by the thought of you and how you left her. Because _THAT_ is what she remembers of you, my dear little Franky. She doesn’t remember the hours of hair braiding, or the years of friendship. She remembers that her best friend turned girlfriend left her to die because money and drugs were more important.” Andréa spits out at Franky, her tone cold and matter of fact. Franky’s eyes well with tears and her bottom lip trembles. “She sat and sobbed into my shoulder that she didn’t want to be haunted by you anymore. Every single time one of your stupid little letters arrived, you broke her a little more. Every single time the post would arrive, she would dread checking through it. So she asked me to help her.”

“You forced her on that plane!” Franky is angry and trying to shake Andréa’s grip, but the redhead is strong.

“I didn’t need to. Do not try to contact her again.” With her final threatening warning given, Andréa lets go of her wrist after squeezing it tightly and sits back.

And then she waits.

It doesn’t take long.

“YOU CANT STOP ME CONTACTING HER, ANDRÉA!” The woman leaps to her feet, her chair flying back and hitting the woman in teal behind her. At the inmates shout, the Governor is already on the move with her deputy and another officer. Coming up quickly behind the black haired woman, Governor Ferguson notices that her guest hasn’t flinched at the outburst. Impressive.

“Your visitor may not be able to stop you, but I certainly can.” The order is given and with a gesture of her head, the officer comes up behind Franky and restrains her, dragging her out of the room, kicking and screaming and crying, the ratty bundle of returned letters clutched in one hand. The governor watches, without much emotion. Andréa quickly picks up her handbag, and stands, drawing the woman in uniform’s attention.

_She’s tall._

Andréa holds out her hand for a handshake. “Andréa Chelmsford. Pleasure to meet you.”

Joan offers her own, and gives the woman’s hand a firm shake. “Joan Ferguson, Governor. The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.” The governor appreciates good manners, plus the fact that this woman has managed to reduce Wentworth’s Top Dog into a quivering, unsteady wreck in the space of fifteen minutes.

“If you have a moment, Governor, I would appreciate a quick conversation with you.”

Joan hears the respect the woman gives her title, addressing her as her rank rather than as Miss Ferguson. For that, she’ll give the woman some of her time.

“Of course, follow me. We’ll go up to my office.”

Andréa smiles, moving through the door first, after the woman gestures her to do so and holding the door open.

_What a gentlewoman._

* * *

The two sit and look at each other for a moment, each one eyeing the other up and trying to assuage their next move.

“I will be blunt, Governor. I would like to assist you in ridding this prison of drugs. Your previous success at Bahnhurst has been noted.” Joan is surprised at her bluntness, but it seems that Andréa Chelmsford has her own tricks up her sleeve. The redhead leans over to grasp a small, clear plastic folder with various documents in them. She quietly places them on the desk and slides them over to the Governor with two fingers.

“You have blocked one hole that had drugs coming in, but this is the entire network within the walls of Wentworth. I took the liberty of stepping in with the board and stopping Mr Channing from interfering in this prison again.”

“Mr Channing?” Joan is curious. The lecherous man was a thorn in her side, it was true but she’d been building evidence against him for months to get him out of her sphere at Wentworth. Perhaps the woman in front of her had managed to do it without her needing to lift a finger.

“People owe me favours, I collect them when I need to.” Andréa leans back as Joan flicks through the contents of the folder, lips pursing in disgust at some of the descriptions on the pages. “Mr Channing is enjoying the hospitality of Melbourne’s finest male prison as of yesterday. I heard that in the middle of the night, he’d needed to be moved to the medical unit after a severe beating.”

The two women shared a look. There was no doubt, Andréa Chelmsford was a predator dressed in designer clothes and had the influence to match her confidence.

_How very interesting._

“I hear that a new psychologist has been assigned here, a Miss Westfall?”

“Correct.” The Governor doesn’t mince words, she wants to know what this woman has up her sleeve. Having met Bridget Westfall once, Joan hadn’t been impressed, finding the woman flighty and too arrogant. Likely one of the women in Wentworth would take her attitude the wrong way and use their fists to show their displeasure.

“Would you allow me to offer you some information about her over a glass of expensive wine and dinner?”

The offer is smoothly said, as if she asks Governors out for a evening meal every day of the week. Joan’s impressed, even if the offer was unexpected. The woman had _guts._ And Joan loved a gutsy woman. Besides, it would cause unease in Doyle, the drug-pusher obviously had some kind of history with the redhead. She could turn her down, but she won't. She had a feeling that the offer would only ever be made once.

And the chance to find out more about Westfall proves too good a chance to miss.

“Certainly, if you’re buying.”

Andréa smirks, and raises an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact with the Governor.

“Not a problem, I assure you.”


End file.
